Director Austin Peters makes his narrative feature debut with “Skincare,” a slice of nasty L.A. noir set in the beauty industry, starring Elizabeth Banks as a celebrity aesthetician whose reputation crumbles around her over the course of two weeks. The film calls to mind dark, salacious thrillers that satirize a city seemingly obsessed with image — think of “Nightcrawler,” or even “American Gigolo” — and Peters wields the style and tone of this subgenre with skill.

The sunbaked Los Angeles of “Skincare” is not the glowing, golden fantasy that we often see on screen, an impossibly beautiful escapist fantasy. No, the light in “Skincare” is harsh and revealing, bright UV rays, fluorescent bulbs and neon signs beating down on the face of Hope Goldman (Banks), a facialist with a high-profile client list who’s on the verge of breaking through to the big time with her own skin care line. Reflected off the hard concrete surfaces of strip malls and sidewalks, it’s not a flattering light.

Hope has been desperate to keep up appearances with her new product line, taping a TV segment that she hopes will launch her into fame and fortune, but as we come to find out, her finances are in disarray. She’s behind on the rent for her storefront and spa in the iconically kitschy Crossroads of the World complex in Hollywood, and when a competing aesthetician, Angel (Luis Gerardo Méndez) sets up shop on her turf, an already frazzled Hope begins to unravel.

But Hope’s undoing isn’t entirely her fault, as a mysterious stalker simultaneously starts to interfere with her reputation, sending creepy texts with videos of Hope attached, hacking her email, posting Craigslist ads for casual encounters, slashing her tires. Hope turns to her only allies — lecherous men like a TV news anchor (Nathan Fillion), her mechanic (Erik Palladino) and a new friend, Jordan (Lewis Pullman), a young, amped-up “life coach.”

“Skincare” becomes a two-hander, alternating between the floundering Hope and the flailing Jordan, who desperately wants to be seen as a hero to her. Pullman is delightfully slimy as an unhinged delusional narcissist, stringy and strung-out, high on his own supply of motivational speaker word salad that he spews into his laptop camera.

Banks, on the other hand, brings a flinty mean streak to the striving Hope. Though she’s a victim here, she’s not entirely sympathetic, and Banks tiptoes that fine line carefully. There’s a dash of schadenfreude for Hope because she’s delusional herself, and cares more about what people think and how she looks than anything else. Her own misplaced assumptions and accusations add to the pile-up of miscommunication that lead to destruction and tragedy in “Skincare.”

Banks’ and Pullman’s deliveries of these tragicomic characters, performed in the key of Jake Gyllenhaal’s “Nightcrawler” creep Louis Bloom, elevate the genre exercise that is “Skincare” to something more fascinating, complex and satirical. The script, written by Peters with Sam Freilich and Deering Regan, is less interesting. The coincidences and twists fit together, somewhat, but there’s no narrative reason why this story had to be set in the beauty industry, except that it’s a business built on facade, fantasy and seeming frivolity, but it doesn’t dig into any of these themes in any significant way.

Despite the script’s limitations, like Hope, Peters is a master of aesthetics himself, and with cinematographer Christopher Ripley and editor Laura Zempel, he crafts a compellingly sleazy ‘80s-style thriller, or at least a convincing facsimile of one. The story may be only skin-deep, but Banks and Pullman find something truthfully hopeless in the surface pleasures of “Skincare.” /Tribune News Service

(“Skincare” contains sexual content, graphic nudity, language throughout, some violence and brief drug use)

“SKINCARE”

Rated R. At the Landmark Kendall Square Cinema, AMC Boston Common, Causeway, South Bay Center, Alamo Drafthouse Seaport and suburban theaters.

Grade: B